


Lady in Red

by ravenndei628



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, I used the FE3H names and places liberally I am so sorry, M/M, Wartime, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25464481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenndei628/pseuds/ravenndei628
Summary: Byleth's fateful meeting with Edelgard, the lady in red, threatens to upend the ongoing war between their two countries as well as their loyalty to their duty.Title of the work as well as of the chapters is taken from the song performed by Chris de Burgh.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, I will add them to the tags as soon as I have written them down haha, Other relationships incoming
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	1. Prologue

_Fhirdiad, 1940._

It was raining heavily in Fhirdiad, capital city of the Republic of Faerghus. A guard positioned at the watch tower of the Capitol Hall gate squints into the rain as he sees a hooded figure approaching in quick, easy steps.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

The two foot soldiers standing in front of the gate pull out their rifles and train them on the approaching figure.

“Identify yourself!”

The mysterious figure raises a hand holding a laminated card. The guard closest approaches the stranger cautiously, his companion still ready to shoot at command.

As the guard takes a step toward the figure, he sees a pair of light purple eyes, the kind that changes in hue depending on how the light hits it.

The guard looks at the ID and suddenly snaps into attention. “Salute!” he shouts, immediately putting down his rifle. He turns around, runs to the other soldier and hisses, “Open the gates! It's the Black Eagle!”

The other soldier turns white as sheet, puts down his rifle as well and frantically radios the guard at the tower, “Open the gate, quickly!! It's the Black Eagle!!!” and the gate guard spills coffee all over his front in his haste to activate the lever opening the gate.

As the gate opens, the other guards inside line up in attention. The Black Eagle passes them by wordlessly, heading straight to the High Room.

***

It was only meant as a joke, but it actually stuck with the next generation of Fhirdiad leaders. The High Room where the highest and most important military officers met during times of war. But it was not for this reason that the room got its name: it simply came from the fact that the room had such a high ceiling. The forefather of the Republic, Loog the Pious, originally intended for the room to be a chapel, hence the high ceilings. Loog, however, died a few years before the building was finished, and his elected successor Klaus the Warrior decreed instead that the room be allotted for strategic meetings.

It was in such a strategic meeting that the Black Eagle walked into—or at least by name. For as the door to the High Room closed, a raucous chorus of laughter was heard.

“Goodness, did you see how they nearly pissed their pants??” a man in complete military uniform—with all the ceremonial tassels and trimmings—was laughing so heartily, there were already tears in his eyes.

The Black Eagle puts down their hood and removes their coat, revealing long turquoise hair and a slender figure. A man with a shaved head in a gray shirt and black pants with gold trimmings—a slave—emerges from the side-door and takes the coat wordlessly, hanging it in a coats rack beside the door. The Black Eagle was about to turn to him to say thanks but he has retreated to the slave-door as quick as a flash.

The woman turns to the man who was still laughing raucously and gives him a stern look. “What kind of stories have you been telling them about me, Sylvain?”

“He just told them that you came from a long campaign in the North, leaving about 250 enemy soldiers strung up and dead.” A man at Sylvain's left says, who then stands up and extends a hand. “Felix Fraldarius, at your service. An honor to meet you, Byleth Eisner, aka the Black Eagle.”

Byleth's purple eyes go straight to Felix's extended hand but she does not make a move to shake it.

“Don’t worry, he's not going to poison you,” a tall blonde man carrying wine enters the room, and everyone stands at attention. “At ease”, he commands, and approaches Byleth.

“General Dimitri Blaiddyd,” Byleth salutes but Dimitri waves off a hand to dismiss it. “I won't take salutes from the woman largely responsible for our successes; if anything, I should be giving salutes to _you_.”

“Sir--!” Byleth protests but Dimitri raises a hand to hush her. He then looks at Felix then says, “As I said, Fraldarius here won't poison you; he just came from a tour of service in the Southern front. He has brought highly valuable information for all of us.”

Byleth looks curiously at Felix. “So he's also…?”

Dimitri nods, relieved that Byleth has finally caught on. “Yes, he's one of our high-value intelligence officers. Pretty much like you, Agent Eisner. This is your first time meeting him because he went to the Southern front as soon as he entered into service.”

“Now,” Dimitri takes his place in the middle of the War Table, maps strewn all over its surface. He snaps his fingers and two servants immediately appear—both female but with shaved heads—and they close off the curtains in the room.

As soon as the two servants leave, everyone gathers around the table but leaves a wide berth for Byleth. Byleth sighs. _I'll have to tell Sylvain off for all those stories he's been spreading about me._

“As I said earlier, Agent Fraldarius has acquired high-value information regarding our enemy.” He points at the red-and-gold insignia of their enemy. “He believes that the Empire will soon be making a frontal assault on us.”

An echo of angry reactions rise up around the room, most of them disbelief. Dimitri was about to hush them when General Lorenz Gloucester speaks up, his soft voice dripping with disbelief cutting through all the noise. “But how is that possible?”, he wonders, looking pointedly and distrustfully at Felix. “We’ve been holding out on all fronts for the past 6 months, and however battered we are, the lines have not yet been breached.” He looks at Felix from head to foot and smirks. “Perhaps, Dimitri, your new… _bird_ is mistaken?”

Dimitri frowns at Lorenz, looking very displeased. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to let me finish first, General Gloucester?”

Lorenz pales but keeps quiet, holding back a retort against Dimitri. For while they were almost of the same rank, Dimitri’s political blood still holds sway—he is, after all, a descendant of the forefathers and the only son of the Prime Minister. Lorenz settles with scowling at the young general.

Dimitri goes back to his maps and continues,

“Yes, I am very much aware that the fronts have not been breached. However, by frontal assault I do not mean that they will be breaking through our lines to breach the capital. Perhaps you could explain better, Agent Fraldarius.”

Felix moves to stand beside Dimitri. This move does not go unnoticed by everyone, but no one dares to point it out.

“As we all know, the Adrestian Empire's power is staggering.” Felix gestures towards the large land area of Adrestia, from its rich mountains to the vast sea surrounding it. “With all its resources backing up its military campaign, haven't we ever wondered why such a powerful empire has yet to breach our frontlines?”

He points to Leicester at the map and places an Adrestian marker over it. “Even our neighbor, Leicester, has been overrun by their forces. And they’re even more powerful than us. So why haven't we fallen yet?”

A burly general, General Dedue Molinaro, speaks up. “That’s because we have highly-trained soldiers, Colonel. Or are you telling me you are underestimating our army?”

Byleth looks cautiously around the room. She could see that Felix is ruffling the feathers of the officers, and if he isn't careful enough, not even the patronage of Dimitri will save him.

Felix shakes his head. “I’ll get straight to the point then. It's because they are planning a different frontal assault from what we are expecting. They plan, not a military head-on assault, but an intelligence assault.”

“They're going to send spies.” Byleth blurts out, and everyone in the room looks at her. “There have long been rumors of highly-trained Adrestian spies infiltrating their enemy countries. It was never proven, but the whispers are strong even in Leicester.”

Felix gives her a short nod, then continues: “From what I have gathered, Crimson Flower has already entered the capital.”

Whispers abound in the room. _Crimson Flower?_

“It’s their code name for their most elite spy, much like our Black Eagle here,” Dimitri gestures to Byleth. “And we have reason to believe that it is this person that has helped orchestrate the fall of Leicester, as well as our other neighbors Brigid and Duscur.”

“Crimson Flower, of course, will have their own people with them. It is them,” Dimitri says, looking at everyone in the room, “that we will be tracking down. Finding them will be our number one priority.”

General Molinaro was about to speak up when Dimitri shushes him with a finger. “The military defense in the fronts will still continue, of course. We have to show them that we are exerting all of our efforts there, so much so that they think that we have no time to spare for hunting out _birds_.”

“Hence why I have recalled to the capital all of our high-value intelligence officers,” Dimitri says, nodding to Byleth, Felix, Sylvain and Ashe, who emerged from his hiding place in the corner of the room. “I need all your eyes and ears here in the capital. It is _crucial_ that we find them, before they find _you._ ”

As the four officers snap to attention and respond with “Yes, Sir!” as one, Dimitri adds, “We have to avoid the fate that has befallen Leicester. We will not fall the same way von Riegan has fallen.”


	2. I've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight

Byleth collapses on the bed, exhausted both physically and mentally. When Dimitri sent her an urgent message from across the country ordering her to go back to the capital, she was still cleaning up the mess caused by some reckless junior officers in the countryside. The urgency of Dimitri’s notice made Byleth pack her bags in under a minute and leave immediately on the shaky truck the military has managed to send her way, because according to the driver, “supplies are running low”.

So she had to make do with the five-hour bumpy ride to the capital, all the while feeling that she left half her body at the countryside because of her hasty departure. She can only hope that Agent Constance, her over-excited junior officer, can manage to tie up the loose ends she left. 

She sighs into her pillow, rolling over on her belly and relaxing into the soft mattress. She closes her eyes and gets ready for a good long sleep, dirty clothes be damned…

…except just as when she could feel sleep pulling her in, a loud knock sounds on her door. “BYLETH!!!”

Byleth ignores the loud call, covering herself with her blankets.

Two loud knocks. “If you’re not going to open the door, I will!”

Byleth sits up and groans. Easygoing as he may seem, Byleth knew that Sylvain really could knock down her door if he wanted to. After all, the ease with which he could yield a lance during their training days was something even Byleth couldn’t accomplish.

Byleth stands up and looks through the peephole in her door. She could see Sylvain (“that wretched idiot,” she murmurs to herself), smiling cheekily at peephole as though he knew he was looking, along with Ashe and Felix. Felix was a little ways away from the two, perhaps not wanting to get involved with Sylvain’s shenanigans. Ashe, on the other hand, looked like he was just dragged out by Sylvain. Byleth notes with curiosity that all three of them were wearing their formal military regalia.

She unlocks her door and scowls at Sylvain. “What do you want?”

Ashe immediately bows down and apologizes. “I’m so sorry Byleth! I know you’re tired from your long trip but Sylvain here—” he looks at the person in question and scratches his head—“really wanted you to join us. I told him—”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s tired, sure, but you’re forgetting one crucial thing, dear Ashe,” Sylvain says, putting an arm around Ashe and ruffling his hair. Ashe tries to avoid Sylvain’s hand but the effort is futile given Sylvain’s long limbs.

Sylvain turns to Byleth. “Today, my dear friend, is the 50th birthday of the Prime Minister. And we promised we would come.”

“Oh shit,” Byleth exclaims. For while the marriage talks between her and Dimitri fell through, Prime Minister Lambert Blaiddyd still treated her like the daughter he never had. The old man would fret and bother her for days if she does not come to his party. Byleth sighs.

“Do we really have time for these kinds of things? I mean,” she scratches her head, looking at Sylvain’s expectant face, “there’s a _war_ going on. And we’re supposed to be looking for the Crimson Flower—”

“All the more reason to celebrate!” Sylvain proclaims, twirling dramatically as if in a dance, dragging along Ashe with him. “This will probably be our last chance to get it on with the ladies,” Sylvain winks at Byleth, for he knows his friend’s preferences, “and who knows, we might get to meet _them_ there.”

He stops twirling and lets go of Ashe, who falls to the ground dizzy. The entire scene was so comical, Byleth had to stop herself from laughing.

Sylvain approaches Byleth and puts his mouth close to her ear. “After all, a _party_ is the best place to scout out possible enemies. For both sides. _Right?_ ” 

***

Byleth couldn’t believe that after Sylvain’s dramatic speech, she would now be dressing herself in her own regalia as well. But after all, he had a point: if the enemy side would want to scout _them_ out, Lambert Blaiddyd’s birthday party is the perfect place. She just couldn’t understand why they had to dress in their military uniform, after all, “Wouldn’t it be easier for the enemies to identify us if we were in uniform?”

To which Sylvain replied with, “ _Everyone_ invited will be wearing a uniform—except for the foreign and civilian guests, that is. So if we wear civilian clothes, we’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

Byleth sighs. She thinks this might not be such a good idea but manages to close the last button in her navy-blue trench coat. She takes her blue-and-silver kepi cap from the table and heads out.

“Well, let’s see if Sylvain’s right.”

***

As they arrive at the Eagle Hall, a small line of people had already formed in front of the doorman, a slave named Cyril. Byleth catches Cyril’s eye and she waves at him, but he turns away from her.

Byleth frowns. “Hey,” she says, turning to Ashe, “I thought Cyril was already set free? He was already looking forward to growing out his hair.” In Faerghus, slaves are mandated to have shaved heads for the rest of their lives—or at least until they are freed.

Ashe looks down and gives Byleth a sad smile. “Prime Minister Blaiddyd caught him stealing supplies in the family manor, so his freedom was revoked.” Byleth gasped. _Cyril, a thief?_

“Or at least, that’s how the story goes.” Ashe leans in to Byleth and whispers, “Some say that Blaiddyd didn’t want to let him go in the first place, because he knew too much about the First Family. Hence the trumped-up charges.”

Byleth was about to respond, but Sylvain was already saying their names to Cyril. As Cyril checks their names off the list, Byleth wrestles with what to say to Cyril. _I’m sorry? Please don’t be sad?_ But before she could do so, Sylvain was already maneuvering their group inside the Eagle Hall. Byleth looks back and sees Cyril looking at her. He gives her a sad smile.

Sylvain manages to find an empty table save for one dark-haired man Byleth was not familiar with. “Is the table taken?” Sylvain asks, smiling at the stranger.

The man looks at Sylvain and his group and gives them a smile. “The table is for 6, and it is only I and my companion who are here. So please, take a seat.” Byleth’s eyes sweep the table and sees no one else; the stranger, perhaps noticing this, laughs. “I’m sorry, my companion has just gone to the powder room. She will be back soon.” He smiles, and gestures for them to take a seat.

As Byleth and her group settle on the table, Sylvain makes small talk with the stranger.

“Allow me to introduce myself: I am Duke Hubert von Vestra, of the Duchy of Varley.” He stands up and takes a small bow. “It is an honor for a territory as small as ours to be invited in an event as dignified as this.” He sits back down and nods at Byleth, who was surveying him closely.

“Varley?” Byleth asks, recalling from memory the wheat fields and rich lands of the small duchy. “I thought the territory is ruled exclusively by the family?”

“Ah yes,” Hubert assents, giving a small bow, “but since their last descendant is a female, management of their lands now falls under me and my wife.” Felix looks questioningly at him and Hubert continues, “the Duchess of Varley, Bernadetta, is my wife.”

Byleth’s group was silent for about a minute, and then—

“What?? So she’s married now!” Sylvain laughs, looking at Ashe. “I thought they couldn’t even get her out of her room!”

Hubert gives a small smile. “Yes,” he says, “she was like that then. But she and I got married”—he raised his left hand to show a wedding band in his ring finger bearing the crest of the Duchy of Varley—“and because of her, er, anxiety, she only wanted a private wedding. Hence we weren’t able to invite foreign friends.” He gives a small bow to apologize, and the group waves it off. “No, no, no need to apologize!” Ashe and Sylvain exclaim, and Felix nods at Byleth.

 _Seems that his story holds up,_ Byleth thinks to herself. She personally knew young Bernadetta and was personally aware of her social anxiety—something that the Varley family has kept hidden from outsiders. Adding to this is the ring on Hubert’s finger, a family heirloom passed on to all males of the family that she knew the older Varley would not give to anyone, even at the expense of his life. 

As Sylvain and Ashe continue to chat with Hubert, Byleth looks around the room to survey the guests. There’s Colonel Raphael Kirsten with his partner, Captain Leonie Pinelli—Raphael sees Byleth from afar and waves excitedly, his hands the size of trash can covers nearly hitting a slave on the head. Leonie admonishes him and gives Byleth a wave too, which Byleth answers. There’s the Lady Mercedes von Martritz, second cousin of Dimitri, talking to the Lady Annette Dominic, daughter of the Minister of Finance. Mercedes sees Byleth looking at her and blushes. Annette sees this and scowls at Byleth, pulling her friend to the other side of the room. Byleth sighs. It seems that Mercedes still hasn’t moved on from their short summer fling, and Annette—who was always ready to protect her best friend from what she called “wolves out to eat sheep” (referring to Byleth)—looks like she might still be out for Byleth’s blood because of that. As Byleth’s eyes follow the two best friends across the room, she sees a streak of red and silver in the crowd, standing out in the sea of black and blue military uniforms. The figure bearing these colors turns around, but just before Byleth could make out a face, she disappears into the crowd.

“I’ll be right back,” Byleth whispers to Ashe, who was now enthusiastically discussing farming methods with Duke von Vestra. Felix looks at her and Byleth tells him, “I think I just saw an acquaintance,” to which Felix nods.

Byleth walks towards the direction where she last saw the figure and weaves through the dense crowd, her eyes so trained on the spot where the woman disappeared that she forgot that she could just walk at the sides of the room to avoid the mass of people in the dance floor. 

The upbeat song being played by the orchestra finishes, and the dancing crowd applauds the musicians appreciatively. Byleth quickly spins on the spot, her eyes peeled for a streak of red, not minding the people around her.

The conductor turns to face the crowd and addresses them. “This next song is by special request of a beautiful guest,” he says. “We hope you like _The Edge of Dawn_.”

The crowd excitedly jitters and grabs their own partners to dance with. The song was a popular love song despite the sadness of the lyrics, and even the Blaiddyd family is known to have shown favor towards the song’s original singer, who has long passed away.

As the opening notes sound, Byleth moves through the crowd once again, searching for the lady in red. She does not fully understand why, and yet she knows deep inside her that the color has struck some memories: of her mother, cradling her as a young child; of a red scarf, the only memory she left Byleth with after going to war as a medic, never to return.

Dorothea, Prime Minister Blaiddyd’s favorite singer, stands up from her seat in the stage and sings the opening lyrics of the song:

_Reach for my hand  
_ _I’ll soar away  
_ _Into the dawn  
_ _Oh, I wish I could stay_

A flash of red from the back of the crowd calls to Byleth; she moves toward it as though hypnotized.

_Here in cherished halls,  
_ _In peaceful days_

Her hand catches onto the red cape, and the silver-haired woman turns to her.

_I fear the edge of dawn,  
_ _Knowing time betrays._

As the orchestra plays on and the crowd slow-dances to the sorrowful tune, the woman looks at Byleth with soft purple eyes—much like her own, but softer and kinder.

“Excuse me?” the woman says, her voice almost melodic to Byleth’s ears.

Byleth takes a step closer to the woman, unable to keep her eyes off her.

The woman looks puzzlingly at Byleth, then smiles. “I’m sorry, did you mistake me for someone else?”

Dorothea hits a particularly high note and the crowd cheers, jolting Byleth into reality. She notices her hand still holding on tightly to the woman’s red cape, so much so that the cloth is already crumpled.

“M-my apologies, my lady!” Byleth bows deeply and curses at herself. _Why does that color always have such a profound effect on her?_ “Allow me to make amends! I will introduce myself to your escort and apologize to them for the inconvenience I have caused—"

The woman looks amusedly at her and stifles her laughter. “It’s alright, I mean,” she looks at her cape, and Byleth now notices that even her gown is red, “you didn’t manage to tear off my cape, so I suppose that’s alright.”

Byleth bows once more, but the woman taps her on her shoulder. She straightens up and gets a good look at the woman’s face.

Long, silver hair up to her chest. Eyes a light purple, nose that was not too prominent nor small, red lips. A face… probably the prettiest face Byleth had ever seen, in all her years touring the continents. Byleth gulps. She has never been speechless in front of any woman, except for this moment.

The woman notices her nervousness and reaches out to take Byleth’s hand. Her hands were warm—as warm as the color of her clothes—and was a contrast to Byleth’s cold hands. Byleth, now realizing how impolite it was to hold on to a woman’s hand—one she even barely knew—takes a step back and removes the woman’s hand from hers.

Dorothea continues to sing _Edge of Dawn_ , and the crowd is entranced. Edelgard looks at the singer on stage and says, “She’s a good singer.” Byleth nods.

“What’s your name?”

“Ah, it’s Dorothea. She’s a pretty popular singer here,” Byleth volunteers, as the woman’s looks greatly imply that she was a foreigner.

The woman chuckles. “No,” she says, a playful smile on her lips, “I said, what’s _your_ name.”

“Ah-oh.” Byleth laughs, looking sheepishly at the woman. _First conversation and you manage to mishear her. Real smooth, Byleth._

“I’m Byleth Eisner.” She holds out a hand to the stranger.

“And I’m Edelgard von Hresvelg,” the lady in red says, taking Byleth’s hand into her own once more. “Looks like the song isn’t finished yet, so let’s dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading my first-ever attempt at a chaptered fic here in AO3! I have long wanted to write an Edeleth fic, and the current situation (i.e., forever stuck at home because of the pandemic) has thus given me time to finally write about them.  
> I hope you look forward to the future chapters! (Just a disclaimer though: I do not claim to have extensive knowledge about military things, but the urge to write Edeleth in such a setting is just too strong (´ﾟдﾟ`)
> 
> Comments will be greatly appreciated! ｍ（＿ ＿）ｍ
> 
> If this work has interested you enough to see me rambling about my gay ships on Twitter, you can check me out @ravenndei628 ~


	3. You shine so bright

“And I’m Edelgard von Hresvelg,” the lady in red says, taking Byleth’s hand into her own once more. “Looks like the song isn’t finished yet, so let’s dance.”

And she suddenly pulls Byleth into the mass of dancing people and Byleth trips over her own feet out of surprise. Edelgard notices, and she turns to look at Byleth and laughs—a tinkling, beautiful sound that rose above the noise in the dance floor, a sound that Byleth will hear in her head for many nights to come.

The lady in red picks a spot in the middle of the dance floor, and Byleth suddenly remembers her manners—she clears her throat, gives a deep bow, and says,

“May I have this dance, Lady von Hresvelg?”, offering a hand to the stunning woman in front of her.

Edelgard’s cheeks flush a light red, surprised at the sudden chivalrous show of manners from the woman who some moments earlier was flustered at having rumpled her cape.

“I—yes,” Edelgard answers, taking Byleth’s hand. Byleth straightens up and places a hand on Edelgard’s waist, the other holding her hand.

_Then you turn to me and I  
Stop before I know_

Byleth steers Edelgard in the dance floor with slow but sure steps.

“So, Lady von Hresvelg,” Byleth ventures, her voice shaking a little and Byleth thinks, _why?,_ “from what territory did you come from?”

_And the lie upon my lips  
I let it go_

“I accompanied my second cousin here, the Duke of Varley,” Edelgard answers, and Byleth nearly bumps into the person behind her out of surprise.

“Oh, we met him earlier!” Byleth smiles, and Edelgard gives her a curious look. “We shared a table with him and we talked about his wife.”

“I see,” Edelgard replies. Byleth was expecting her to say more, but the other woman keeps quiet.

They turn as one, their bodies pivoting in time with the melody and the mass of dancing guests.

“So…” Byleth begins, stumped with both the woman’s beauty and the fact that she has never been speechless in front of any girl, “what do you do, Lady von Hresvelg?”

Edelgard laughs. “I do what any other lady does, Byleth.” Dorothea croons in the background and they turn once more. Edelgard’s sudden use of her first name surprises her and pleases her at the same time. Edelgard steps a little closer to her, minimizing the gap between them. “I sit around, drink tea, and wait until my father marries me off to some rich noble.”

Byleth chuckles. “Does this rich noble have to be a man?”

Edelgard’s eyes widen and Byleth realizes her slip-up too late—she lets go of Edelgard and takes a step back. “My apologies, Lady von Hresvelg!” She bows once more, ashamed of what she said. “I am sorry for such a presumption—”

But Byleth hears Edelgard’s tinkling laughter once more and she looks up to see the woman laughing softly, a hand covering her mouth like a proper lady. Byleth stands up straight and Edelgard says, “No reason to worry, Byleth.” She pulls Byleth to her and they stand face to face and—Byleth notes with excited pleasure—their lips a mere few inches away.

“Just think of this… as a secret between the two of us.” And Edelgard steers Byleth to dance once more, almost kissing but not quite.

_Here in cherished halls  
In peaceful days  
I fear the edge of dawn  
Knowing time betrays_

***

As her guest was a foreigner in Fhirdiad, Byleth felt obligated to show Edelgard the city. Like a well-mannered lady, Edelgard initially turns down the offer, but Byleth insists—resulting in them now walking along the cobblestoned streets of Fhirdiad’s main plaza, with shops closing up for the night. Some merchants call out to Byleth, and at one point were even stopped by an old lady who profusely thanked Byleth for helping fix her house months ago. During the exchange, Edelgard was just on the sides listening—Byleth had to make the conversation with the old lady as quick and still as polite as possible.

“You’re quite popular here,” Edelgard chimes in, and Byleth laughs.

“Just with some people,” Byleth replies, and as if on cue a group of women in scantily-clad clothes across the street call out to her.

“Byleth, my love!!” They wave enthusiastically, blowing kisses to her. A woman even hitches up her dress to show off her legs. Edelgard raises her eyebrows at Byleth and she looks away, embarrassed.

“Byleth, when are you coming back to the bar? We miss you!”

Byleth takes Edelgard by the hand and walks away quickly, and the women hoot.

“Oh no, she’s found a lady love already! She won’t be coming back to us!” And they all cry exaggeratedly, laughing at how embarrassed Byleth looked.

Byleth turns at a corner and Edelgard catches a look at her face. Byleth was as red as a tomato and Edelgard laughs loudly.

Byleth looks grumpily at her and Edelgard, with tears in her eyes, says breathlessly, “You _sure_ are popular!” And she laughs even more. Blushing, Byleth interjects, “I—you know, I have needs!”

“Okay, okay.” Edelgard finally calms down, wiping a last tear from her eye. “So, where are you—”

Edelgard notices then that the street they entered was deserted and already dark, save for the only lamppost near them. Edelgard sees the light illuminating half of Byleth’s face, and notices that she was still holding Byleth’s hand. Byleth steps forward and—

“I—I need to go back.” Edelgard quickly says, taking a step back from Byleth and letting go of her hand. Byleth halts her advance and stays rooted in her spot, sensing the other woman’s sudden hesitance.

“I see.” Byleth replies, and she stands at attention. “Let me escort you back to your place, Lady von Hresvelg.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Edelgard curtly replies, and Byleth notes the seeming tone of authority in her voice. As Edelgard turns around and walks away, Byleth grabs her hand and pulls her back.

“What—?”

“Please, allow me to escort you.” Byleth’s tone was insistent, her grip hard on Edelgard’s wrist. Seeing Byleth so serious and strong in her military regalia made her want to see her in action as a soldier—but a wave of guilt washes over her, and she tries her best to push it down. “You will get lost. Let me escort you.”

And without knowing why, Edelgard nods her assent. _This wasn’t how everything was planned…_

_***_


	4. So many men ask if you want to dance

“Edelgard.”

Looking out at the balcony of their hotel, Edelgard turns around and sees orange hair emerging from the shadows. His serious tone catches Edelgard off-guard, but nevertheless she recognizes him.

“Duke von Aegir.”

Ferdinand takes a step further and takes in the cool night air, registering Edelgard’s red dress and silver hair flowing in the wind.

“I hope you are well.”

Edelgard forces a smile. Even though their engagement didn’t push through, the young man was still insistent on seeing her. Edelgard sighs.

“Please stop this, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand takes another step forward but Edelgard raises a hand to stop him. He opens his mouth to say something but Edelgard shushes him.

“You don’t have to do this out of pity.”

“I am not doing this out of pity!” Ferdinand protests, and he takes another step forward. Edelgard does not stop him. “I have long had feelings for you—”

“Feelings that were magnified when you realized the reason why our engagement was broken off,” Edelgard cuts him off, but Ferdinand shakes his head.

“I don’t care if you are the—”

“ _Duke von Aegir!”_ Edelgard practically shouts, and Ferdinand is taken aback. “You _will not_ mention that _here_ , Duke von Aegir. _Know your place._ ”

“I—yes,” Ferdinand bows apologetically and quickly looks around to see if anyone was near them.

“You are a kind man, Ferdinand.” Edelgard says quietly. “But you and I were never meant for each other—the revelation of my identity adds to that fact.”

While her words were harsh, Edelgard cannot help but feel sad when she sees Ferdinand’s hurt face.

“I am willing to throw away my name and inheritance for you, Edelgard.”

“And I do not want that from you.” Edelgard steps forward, her face cool and serious and at the same time, somewhat frightening. She prepares to deliver another blow. “That will be of no use to me.”

Ferdinand winces and she continues, “I want to work for what I want. I want to strive for what I have long believed in.” She walks away but Ferdinand grabs her by the wrist.

“You are willing to risk everything for this?” Ferdinand tightens his hold on her wrist, and—she doesn’t understand why, but Byleth’s strong, cool touch earlier comes to mind. “Does the chance for success outweigh the risks?”

Edelgard turns to him and pulls her wrist from his grasp. Ferdinand stumbles a little. “You don’t know me, Duke von Aegir. It is, after all, my detestable father’s blood that runs in my veins.”

***

After running down three flights of stairs, Edelgard emerges once more into the cool night air. A confrontation with Ferdinand was the last thing she needed tonight, and yet, the young noble had somehow obtained permission to follow her here.

 _I should ask Hubert if he knows of this_.

A few cars pass her by outside the hotel, some of them appearing to be military vehicles. A few meters away, an old man peddles hand-rolled cigarettes beside a bench. Edelgard walks towards the empty bench and sits on it, looking curiously at the peddler.

“Sir, why don’t you sit down here?” Edelgard kindly asks the old man, and she pats the space beside her. The old man—surprised that someone talked to him—jolts a little and immediately bows to her.

“N-no madam, that seat is yours,” he stutters, his head still bowed low. His hat slips down, revealing a bald head.

 _Ah—a slave._ She sadly realizes that even if she decides to strike up a conversation with him, he will never give him proper answers—for slaves are not allowed to talk to free men, except towards their masters.

She looks at the cigarettes he’s selling and realizes that there are still a few more rolls left. _He can’t go home because he hasn’t sold all of them._

She opens her purse and takes out two gold coins. “I’d like to buy all of your cigarettes, please.”

He looks up and sees the two gold coins glinting in Edelgard’s palm. He looks at it confusedly and says, “Madam, my cigars are just worth 1 gold and 5 silver pieces.”

She shrugs and presses the gold into his hands. “I have no silver on me and I want to buy all of your cigarettes. I suppose you don’t have enough coins on you for my change?” Her voice automatically takes on an authoritarian tone, and she feels sorry for making him feel frightened. _But if this is the only way…_

He immediately takes all of the cigarettes in his bag, wraps them in old newspaper, and places them in front of Edelgard. He bows profusely and runs off, holding the two gold coins tight in his fist. Edelgard smiles.

“You scared him.” Edelgard jolts and stands up, looking at the direction where the voice came from. The person comes closer and the streetlight beside the bench reveals it to be Byleth, still in her uniform.

“Byleth…!” She looks at her, shocked that the woman was still here. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Byleth twirls her kepi cap in her hands. “I wanted to linger a little longer here,” she says, looking cautiously at Edelgard. “And I also… wanted to apologize.”

Edelgard stares disbelievingly at her. “You… were waiting for me here?”

Byleth nods.

“Even though there was a chance that I could have already gone to sleep?”

Byleth nods again, looking as if her decision were the most natural thing in the world to do.

In truth, Byleth was unsure why she did that. To wait for a woman in the cold night, with no certainty that she will see her again… Byleth’s mind was a mess, even more so now that Edelgard is in front of her.

A few seconds pass by in silence, when—

“I’m sorry.” Both of them speak up at the same time, and Edelgard is the first to laugh. Byleth chuckles too, a little embarrassed _for god knows I don’t know why!_

Edelgard steps forward and Byleth’s heart skips a beat. She extends a hand. “I guess… no more words needed?”

Byleth nods and takes her hand to shake it. “Yeah.”

***

Feeling sleepless despite the late hour, Edelgard and Byleth roam the streets of Fhirdiad once more, and Byleth shows off her favorite places. The stall where one can get the best tea leaves, and Edelgard mentions that bergamot is her favorite (Byleth makes a mental note of this). The bookstore Byleth used to frequent as a teenager. The fountain in the middle of the plaza, which Byleth says is where the weekly amusements happen.

“It’s such a shame that you didn’t get to see Fhirdiad in daytime,” Byleth adds, after narrating a funny story of her getting scared of the clowns during the time that a roving circus performed in the plaza.

“You can take me again next time,” Edelgard replies and immediately blushes— _really, Edelgard, what a presumption that she’s going to see you again!—_ but Byleth grins and answers, “Sure.”

As Byleth mulls over where to take Edelgard next, the sound of drunken singing reach her ears. The men—based on their raucous laughter and voices—were singing a crude song and were walking towards them.

Byleth takes a surprised Edelgard’s hand and starts to walks away, but the men see them. “Hey, hey, hey!!” One of the men raises his bottle and points at the two of them. “You! Preeeetty girls!!”

The men laugh, and Byleth’s eyes narrow. She tightens her grip on Edelgard. “Let’s go, El.”

Edelgard blushes at the nickname but is left with no time to ponder on it as Byleth quickly marches away with her in tow. The men—with surprising quickness despite their drunken state—cut off their path.

“Oi, oi, where are your manners?” The man who spoke earlier jeered. He was the biggest and appeared to be the leader of the ragtag group of six. The other men jeer. “You ladiesss don’t know whens to greet a man, ehhhh?” He takes a step forward and Byleth instinctively shoves Edelgard behind her.

The man notes Byleth’s uniform and laughs even more. “Ah, a righteous goody soldierrr. Man, I sure am lucky!!” And the men laugh again, even though Byleth does not understand why.

“Let us pass peacefully, sir.” Byleth’s voice was firm. “The pubs are across the street, it would be best for you to continue your merriment there.”

“Whaaaat??” The man angrily retorts. “Now you’re ordering _me_ around???” The men crack their knuckles and the leader spits at Byleth’s feet. “ _Fuck you!!”_

_***_


	5. Never seen that dress you’re wearing

The man throws his bottle at Byleth and then it was chaos: Byleth catches the bottle and lobs it at the man, hitting him squarely in the head. He falls on his knees and the other men rush Byleth—Byleth, with one hand still holding Edelgard’s, kicks the first man in the face, who stumbles backward onto his companion and they fall, flailing on the ground. As another aims for Byleth’s face, she ducks, turns and runs in the opposite direction, dragging Edelgard along with her.

The men shout and run after them, and Edelgard couldn’t help but laugh—she was _here_ , in Fhirdiad, being chased by a group of drunken men and her hand in Byleth’s—

Byleth turns into a narrow alleyway and squeezes herself through it and Edelgard does the same. As the men pass by their hiding place, they hear them curse at each other—“ _Fuck, two women and still managed to slip us!”—_ Edelgard realizes that her and Byleth’s faces were so close to each other— _and her chest, it’s so big against mine—_ and she nearly yelps, but Byleth puts a hand over her mouth.

A few minutes pass by and the frustrated sound of the drunken men fade away slowly. Byleth looks down at Edelgard and a glint catches her eye.

It was Edelgard’s red dress, but it is only now that Byleth notices the gems in it. Small rubies, uncountable in their abundance on Edelgard’s dress, each with a minute glow that when put together, helps further accentuate the deep red color that so caught Byleth’s eye earlier.

“Your dress…” Byleth exhales, and despite the cramped space they were in she couldn’t help but be mesmerized.

Edelgard’s eyes widen, surprised that of all the things to bring up now, it would be _her_ dress. “Ah yes,” she replies, “This was a gift from my… mother.”

Byleth suddenly becomes aware of where they were: in a dark, cramped alley, perhaps a dirty one at that—and she hurriedly squeezes out of the place. “I’m sorry!” she exclaims. _I think I’ve already lost count of my “sorry”s to her tonight._ “Your dress—it might be dirty now!” Byleth smacks herself on the head as Edelgard emerges from the alley, brushing a stray hair from her face.

“No, no, it’s okay!” Edelgard gives a small laugh. “I can have this cleaned, don’t worry.”

They stand there awkwardly for a few minutes. Byleth then ventures: “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

***

Walking hand in hand on their way back to Edelgard’s hotel is something Byleth never expected to happen, “ _But here we are,”_ she thinks happily. As they approach the hotel, she feels that both of them were deliberately slowing down to delay their parting.

But they soon arrive at the entrance, and Byleth is forced to finally say goodbye to her.

“Well then,” Byleth says, still unwilling to let go of Edelgard’s hand. “Maybe I can see you again sometime?”

“Yes,” Edelgard answers breathlessly, and her quick reply makes Byleth’s stomach flutter. A hotel staff sees them and, recognizing Edelgard, he gives her a greeting and opens the door for her. Inwardly Byleth curses the bell boy and lets go of Edelgard’s hand.

“See you, then,” Byleth steps back and motions for Edelgard to go. Edelgard walks away but turns around to wave at her. Byleth smiles, and to make their goodbye quick (the bell boy now looks impatient holding the door open) she turns around and walks away.

Byleth hears the door close and she turns around. Edelgard is no longer there. She sighs and trudges back to her quarters.

A few blocks away from the hotel Byleth hears a door loudly opening, the sound magnified in the silence of the night. The sound of heels on cobblestone, rushing toward her. Byleth turns around and—

“Ah!” Byleth stumbles backward and nearly falls over, for Edelgard had run straight to her and was now in her arms, gasping.

“You—walk—too—fast!!” Edelgard pants, and Byleth is confused and pleased and all sorts of emotional.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, and waits for Edelgard to catch her breath.

“Your—you called me—El,” she says, and Byleth does not comprehend the statement at first.

“Huh?”

“You called me El,” Edelgard says, still a little breathless but now able to speak more clearly. “In the plaza, before we ran from those drunken men, you called me ‘El’.”

Byleth remembers the moment. “Ah, yeah, I did,” she muses, “But that just… sort of slipped out.” Edelgard looks disappointed, so Byleth elaborates, “I mean, your name’s too long, and it seemed natural that your nickname would be ‘El’. Besides,” she smiles a little and looks at Edelgard and their height difference, “the name seems to suit you.”

Edelgard blushes and looks pleased, and Byleth feels that she should keep the thought about Edelgard’s height to herself. Edelgard looks up at Byleth and says,

“That nickname… my mother used to call me that. She was the only person to call me that.”

Tears fill Edelgard’s eyes and Byleth hastens to apologize, but she takes Byleth’s hand in hers and squeezes it. “Thank you,” she breathes, and before Byleth can do anything, Edelgard leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno how it happened but I wrote three chapters in one sitting. I wish I had this kind of motivation every day... 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Comments are once more greatly appreciated~! 
> 
> >if you want to see more gay content, give me a follow @ravenndei628 :>


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